


Moribund's Elixirs & Potions

by guibass



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: DIRECT FROM MORIBUNDS, F/M, FINE POTION CRAFTS, Knockturn Alley alley drama, Kylo is an Oracle, Kylo's the wizarding equivalent of a late night TV psychic, Rey is an apprentice at an infamous potions emporium, Snoke is not Voldemort, Wizarding World AU, think Coronation Street
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-01-08 12:15:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12254205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guibass/pseuds/guibass
Summary: “There’s a man in your life you want dirt on.” Kylo says as he addresses the entering patron. She blinks owlishly at him in the middle of the doorway, strands of blond hair flowing forward into the room as the warm summer winds blow across Knockturn alley. “Please, close the door, sign these forms, and we can begin.”-----The war has made a recluse of the once famous Ben Solo-Organa, Seer of Dreams and Diviner of Futures, son of esteemed Minister of Magic, Leia Organa. He used to grace the covers of Witch Weekly and Seer's Select, until he went missing on the eve of the Second British Wizarding War.Now going by the name Kylo Ren, he operates a less than legal divination shop off the less than reputable Knockturn Alley. He does small fleets of divination for the odd paying customer, reads a palm here and there, and he continues to believe that he still has the touch even though he hasn't seen a thing in years.Every day seems the same, until a run-in with Moribund's newest apprentice has him reeling in visions and lifethreads all over again.





	1. Visitor at the Door

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this came to me while I was chugging a latte, waking down the causeway to Mutton Island. You're goddamn right that they're eventually going there.
> 
> I haven't edited this so don't shoot me.

“There’s a man in your life you want dirt on.” Kylo says as he addresses the entering patron. She blinks owlishly at him in the middle of the doorway, strands of blond hair flowing forward into the room as the warm summer winds blow across Knockturn alley. “Please, close the door, sign these forms, and we can begin.” She nods mutely and follows. Her satin-covered heels click heavily on the cedar floors as they maneuver around the storefront, and mute as they enter a carpeted area cut off by a rich, violet curtain. The room is warm, cozy. and slightly circular, but somehow still does not put her at ease. The Oracle is already seated when she enters. Between them, on the table, lays a shallow dish which appears to hold murky, blue liquid. Small, shadowy figures move across it, like a damaged film roll. The woman peers closer into the dish, hoping to make out the images. Kylo rest his head on his perched arm, disinterested in his newest customer. “I’m guessing it’s a cheating husband, or a scheming brother.”

 

“Uh, no.” Kylo raises an eyebrow and she flinches a little, “It’s…. It’s my _boss_.” She whispers, as if the curtained walls have ears, that fire and brimstone will rain down on her at the mere mention. He sits upright and waves a hand over the dish. The liquid turns sea green, glittering slightly under the dim lights. He clenches his fist and slowly starts to pull it away from the water.

 

“What do you want to know, how to get that promotion or how to get _their_ promotion?” Thin, green threads begin emerging from the liquid, which bubbles. The patron seems entranced by the show, what seems to be the literal threads of fate being pulled right before her.

 

Kylo begins intertwining the threads with his hands, their thin, silk-like strands wrapped around each finger a few times. At each criss-crossing, the threads begin to form an intricate cradle, the weave of which seems both glittering and translucent. The center space created by the cradle is large, and Kylo’s face appears satisfied with the size.

 

He carefully drips the cradle into the dish, coating all threads thoroughly. Lifting it, he pulls it taut, the green liquid dripping off the cradle and back into the dish, the _drip-drip-drip_ of it returning the only sound in the room besides the deep breaths coming from the oracle. He peers through the cradle, looking directly at her, the liquid filling every gap between the threads reminding her of bubble-wands from her childhood. His eyes are wild, unfocused and yet his eyes are fixated on something moving within the film.

 

She shifts in the cushioned seat, trying not to look into the oracle’s eyes as he scrutinizes every detail he can.

 

“Things look simple enough.” He drops the threads into the dish, and they melt back into the liquid. He reaches under the velvet tablecloth and pulls a document folder. The patron is perplexed, _that's it_? He hands her a thick stack of parchment and a short quill. “I need these signed, and payment sorted, before I can go any further.”

 

Katherine Quinn-McBride might be a lowly ministry employee ( _for now_ ), but years working in the inner circles of pureblood elite society has taught her that you only get as good as you give. Backdoor deals for invitations, innovative loopholes in ministry safety regulations, _Why yes, Madame Parkinson, the caterers can get perfectly legal thestral flanks for next month’s fundraiser, paperwork and all will be provided._ She has been saving all these favors for the Dream. All that stands in her way, right now, is a middle-aged halfblood who is perfectly content in bottlenecking their department and stifling all her chances getting on the Ministry Ladder of Success.

 

She grabs the quill, and flips through the contract, all seventy-six pages. The last one outlines payment methods, and displays a figure steep enough that she pauses. She'll have to reach into the family vaults, but it will be worth it. She signs her name, a flourish of loops, and the ink disappears into the parchment. She hands back the stack to the oracle, who only shakes his head.

 

Kylo summons one of the floating candles from the ceiling, the lone red stick comes down directly onto the plush velvet, wax dripping down its side, threatening to drop onto the table. He hands it to her and points at her hand. Specifically, her signet ring, charmed right before she entered _The Inner Eye_ to appear cheap and tacky. She sighs and undoes the spell. The gold ring displays a bear claw with an ornate orange key in the palm. The crest of the McBrides, a small but old clan located in magical Derry.

 

She tilts the candle for a few drops of red wax. She takes the ring off and it transfigures itself into a proper signet stamp. She applies the stamp, and before she can even blink, the ring is back on her finger and the contract has been tucked away carefully, out of sight.

 

“I'm glad we have an agreement, Ms. McBride-”

 

“Quinn-McBride.” The correction is out of her mouth before she can catch herself. Kylo merely raises a brow.

 

“I was unaware the Quinn’s were still a part of the British magical community. The last I heard, the sole heir married into a French wandmaking dynasty, took the whole clan with them.”

 

“You are not wrong, my cousin Claire got married almost five years ago.” She says defensively. Kylo merely shrugs, now bored of gossip, and transfigures the quill into an oval-shaped cover, the golden carvings matching the dish on the table. Covering the concoction, he magics the tool away.

 

“Your boss is having… severely difficult marital issues right now.” This is news to Katherine, who is usually up-to-date with departmental gossip. “If you can manage to get your only other female co-worker to be… caught in precarious positions with him, the rest should flow as you wish.”

 

She sags with relief, a simple sabotage is enough. It's not a scenario she would have thought of, knowing her boss as she does, but The Oracle is never wrong.

 

“A lovestruck n.205 or draught of infatuation should help speed things along, if you find yourself unable to push the two together through persuasion alone. There is a discrete alchemist named Dafydd in Shyverwretch’s.” She grabs a small notepad from her purse, and writes the many failsafe Kylo begins listing. He is thorough and precise with his instructions for each possible route she could take, and she suddenly understands the secrecy and harsh price he demands. This kind of auguring is dangerous, all from one look and no blood necessary.

 

Kylo, satisfied with his instructions, stands and heads for the curtain. Parting them, he address the small woman still frantically writing.

 

“I thank you for your patronage, and as per your contract, please refrain from contacting me in any matter until three of the methods prescribed have been tried and you've allotted a four-week timeframe for it to take effect. The correct amount will be withdrawn from the account connected with your signet ring. If payment issues should occur, there will be a visit from one of my associates.” Kylo's tone is business-like and quick. Katherine quickly stuffs her notepad away, and follows Kylo as they moved back to the front of the store. Ever the gentleman, he holds the front door.

 

“Safe journey, and I hope we do not meet again.” But Katherine does not hear him as she rushes onto the shadowed streets, her legs automatically taking her back to work as her brain runs into overtime figuring out which scenario is the one that will get her boss fired.

 

She will have to slip Greta at reception a treat from Rosa Lee’s teashop as a thank you for The Oracle’s location. She doesn’t feel bad, in the slightest sense, that it’ll be laced with N.205 and the synthesized essences of Pot-Belly Franklin’s hair.

 

\----

 

Kylo closes the door, watching the little socialite with management aspirations make her way through the dark streets of Knockturn Alley. A trill alerts him to the cat at his feet.

 

“Feeding isn't for another two hours, Harris.” The cat ignores Kylo’s remark, and rubs himself affectionately against the tall man’s leg, as though begging has worked in the past (it has). Sighing, Kylo picks up the white Maine Coon and cradles him to his chest as he makes his way to the back, white fur getting all over his black waistcoat. A door previously hidden glimmers into reality and swings open to a kitchenette. It’s time for some tea.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Kylo, more problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Kylo-centric chapter! I promise some Rey, Luke, and Finn next chapter!
> 
> Any feedback is appreciated.

It's a late summer's storm that greets him as he steps outside Duffryn's Drink, Magical Newport. The sun peeks out between clouds as cold, misty winds gust along the cobblestone roads, the patrons of Usk's Bend Alley rush between stores. Young men laugh as they run across the street, the cold rain dripping down the backs of their shirts but the exertion of running around keeping them warm. Kylo remembers nothing like this from his school days. 

He shakes himself before he can start down memory lane, quickly casting a shielding spell above his head and dries what little of him was immediately drenched when he stepped out. When he needs is not here, but up the hill at the Monmouth Maginarium. The building is imposing; a glass dome sits atop an all-stone building, surrounded by spires. Enchanted gargoyles roost at the top of each, their wings raised to shield them from the downpour. The grey of the sky almost matches the grey of the stones. His long strides make quick work of the hill, and he knocks on the walnut doors. A small plank of wood shifts, revealing a pair of eyes half covered in bushy brows. A gruff voice greets him. 

"We aren't open. Come back in three hours." 

"I'm the nine o'clock, with Objugator Wilkinson." The eyes shift, looking around Kylo for the presence of other beings. Satisfied with Kylo's lack of accompaniment, his voice is less severe but still reluctant to speak to him. 

"She's out right now, but you can wait in her office." The plank is placed back with a smack, and Kylo hears small mechanisms shift within the door. It opens with a slight creak. The entrance is not completely visible, unlit sconces are flush to the walls, and the light from the doorway reveals a marble table, a bouquet of flowers on top. Anything past the entrance hall area is obscure. Kylo enters anyways into the darkness, and dispels his charm. The door shuts immediately behind him. 

The man who greets him is tall, almost matching Kylo's own stature, but Kylo is nowhere near as spindly as this man. Kylo's body has retained the enforcer's build he worked for through his early adulthood, arms stretching his dress shirts, and thighs liken to tree trunks. Had it not been for the need to distance himself from his old publish image, Kylo would dress much like his did before - in expensive streetwear that could handle the bulk of his build with ease. But muggle fashion was too ubiquitous with the image of the famed  _Ben Solo_ , and so in this new life, he dons the difficult suits and robes of other wizards, hiding in plain slight. Old enough to be cheap but not plain enough to imply destitution. This man wears a thick blue sweater, frayed at the cuffs. It has seen better days. 

The man signals Kylo to follow him, and they enter a side hallway that was hidden in the darkness. The ceilings are as high as the hallway in narrow, a gilded window at the end of the passageway makes a few doors clear to the eye. Kylo's steps echo off the wood, his dress shoes making a 'clunk' sound with every step. The man is silent, ghoul-like in his movements. They arrive at the end of the hall, the door reading 'Objugator G. P. Wilkinson, OGfE'. 

"This an acquisition, or you just one of Glinda's  _boys_?" Kylo gives the man a side-eyed glance, face neutral. "Hmm... thought not. You're too tall an' too early in the day." He opens the office door and ushers Kylo in. "If I hear, even a lil', chopsing going on in here, I'll be back to haul your ass onto the street, regardless of how fancy those shoes are." The door is shut aggressively, and Kylo is alone. 

The office is larger than he would expect for an Objugator, but given the woman's Order of GfE status, it does not come as much of a surprise. He walks around the room, looking at the trinkets that line the bookshelves and small portraits that scatter the wall. The portrait occupants look on, curious of this new visitor. Some at the far end of the room, by the French-styled windows, crowd the edge of their frames for a better look. 

Kylo feels the light energy in his room, and his eyes scan for the source. Its on the far wall, behind an oak desk. A crystal, no bigger than his palm, sits on the wall-mounted shelf behind a few photos, magical and muggle. It seems to be a quartz, but could also be a compound. He nears it, leaving his hand to hover over the energy source, eyes closed and he examines it with his own tendrils of magic. It isn't the oldest crystal he's ever encountered, but it is definitely the most stubborn. 

It is slow to wake, the energy he felt earlier being an overflow from its dormant state. He prods it a little with his magic, but it replies back with its own, a stubborn child begging a parent for five more minutes. He sighs and picks it up. He places it against his face and 'coos' lightly to it, and it finally awakens. He can tell off the bat that it has more personality than it should, already telling him to open a window and place it in the sun. 

"Well, look at you bossypants. You just met me and already you want things done for you." Kylo chuckles as he puts the now-annoyed crystal down. 

_You, young sir, have already disturbed my rest. Put me in the sun or leave this room immediately._

"Hm,.." Kylo fakes at thinking on the demand. "No."

_This is unacceptable. I demand to be warmed up immediately! Have you no carrier-crystal etiquette?! Why, if I were back in my corporeal body I'd te-_

The door opens, and a small woman walks in, bright blue robes mismatched with the deary atmosphere of the day. The crystal immediately goes dormant, as though it was caught doing something it shouldn't. 

"Good morning Mister Ren. I see you've met my great-grandfather. Do not pay him mind if he insults you - he still thinks it's the 1890s and that flogworms are a cure-all for any illness." She sets her bag on the desk and proceeds to take binder after binder from the small satchel. "Please have a seat and we can discuss this collection you briefly mention on lending in your missive." Kylo gives one sharp look to the crystal, which magically responds with a 'huff' to his mind. The seat across the desk looks comically small. He sits anyways. 

"Yes, the donation is specifically for the research and historical departments of the South Wales ministry."

"That's rather specific, the Objugator council usually decides where these items go. What materials do you think the historical artifacts department needs?" She whisks the binders into bookshelves around the room, and sits with a 'floof' into the high-backed chair, finally looking at Kylo, "Mister Ren, have we met before? You look oddly familiar." Kylo shifts in his chair, trying to mask how uncomfortable he is feeling, for both the question and squishing himself into a seat built for goblins. 

"I highly doubt it, my parents are from America and this is my first time in Wales." It is a half-truth, one he has practiced endless since going into hiding three years ago. Wilkinson frowns, but carries on. 

"Before I can process the items, I do need to know what we're taking in. If they are seen as trivial compared to the rest of the collection, I  _will_ have to refuse them." 

"I have... procured some magical artifacts that belonged to Magister Amidala." Glinda's eyes light up. It is rare for the Newport ministry to ever get new materials, let alone ones concerning their most famous public figure. 

"How did you come across them? Did the Americans have them?" It would be a complete uproar within the British archival and museum community if  _any_ items belonging to the famed Amidala's ended up in American hands. 

"I have a family... friend, here in the U.K,," he adds quickly noticing the dark expression that passes over the Objugator's face, "that held onto them for many years. They have recently passes away and gave them to me." 

"What exactly are they? Have they been authenticated?" She is poised on the edge of her seat, the mere  _idea_ of having anything from the Amidala's in their ministry branch would be a crown among artifacts. She can just barely remember when the Amidala estate had gone on its country-wide tour, right after Magister Amidala's death and the dissolution of the family name. She had been eight. Since then they had been housed in the Ministry's London museum, the magical branch of the British Library, still being 'restored', though she knows its a lie. She had once been offered an 'exclusive' glimpse at the collection for a steep price from the head of the department. She had turned it down, but she knows a few of her colleagues had taken up the offer. "What materials of any significance are left that the London branch doesn't already have?"

"While I respect your Order of Gwen ferch Ellis, and your status here at the South Wales ministry, I will require your verbal and magical agreement that you will not mention the items in question to anyone, even if our deal falls through." Kylo stand and procures his wand from his coat pocket, handle up as to not frighten her. "A simple Waterhouse Agreement will do." 

Glinda Wilkinson was not one to enter agreements such as there lightly, but something in the young man's face said he was completely serious. She stands, arm extended. They clasps their right hands as Kylo casts the spell. He feels the tell-tale sign of a magical contract going through his right arm and up to his collarbone. 

"What is the breakage?"

"Half your collection... and your great-grandfather, he is entertaining and I would love to examine the original enchantment that got him in there. The contract will terminate if the materials are accepted here." 

"... that's fair. Though half my collection is a bit steep, and you might incur the wrath of our board members. You can examine my great-grandfather regardless. I need a break from him anyways." Kylo gives her a rare smile, excited at the prospect of examining new magic. 

"I did not bring any containment cells with me today, but I will owl you for an appropriate time to pick him up." Kylo sits back down into the gremlin chair, "And I do believe the collection is worth it, as it includes the first-term appointment crown she would have worn had she survived her Minister campaign and, what some experts believe to be, is her secret engagement band." Glinda is speechless. 

 

* * *

 

 

In Kylo's opinion, the meeting goes well. Well enough that he sees no harm in dallying around Usk's Bend, window shopping. No fear that some Aurors will rain down on him at any moment, demanding his papers and such. Just a leisurely stroll through an old but sparsely populated wizarding village, where pedestrians doing a double take of his face aren't doing is because they recognize him, but because they  _don't._

The rain-slicked cobblestones reflect the street lamps, the grey clouds having darkened over the course of his meeting. He peers into many display windows, showcasing things from wizarding finery to sporting goods. It is a small door squeezed between two bigger shops that catches his eye, a hanging metal outline of a book the only sign that some business resides within. He shuffles his feet over the doormat, freeing what dirt and water cling to his dress shows, before entering. A bell chimes as light from the doorway illuminates the storefront. The space has been enlarged, but not by much and no well, either a cheap contractor or the spell itself is a few hundred years old. He hears the creaking of floorboards behind a curtained doorway, which is moved aside by a pudgy man. 

"What can I do you for, stranger?" He greets Kylo warmly. 

"Just browsing," Kylo answer absentmindedly, already deciphering titles along the wall. "You wouldn't happen to have a divination section?"

"Follow me, it's all upstairs." The man pulls his wand out from the clerk's apron tied to his waist, and transfigured a staircase from the piles of books laying around. It spirals up, to a landing Kylo finally notices. They walk up the stairs, the candles along the wall burning bright the further away from natural light they get. They walk through narrow paths, the bookcases tightly packed, the end of each section lit by a number of windows Kylo is sure the building doesn't naturally have. They pass through two-roped off areas before the short man stops and turns back to Kylo. 

"Here you'll find spells for hypnosis, divination, tea guides, and a few biographies. Ring the bell at the window if you need anything or are carrying too much. Prices are listed in the back near the publisher's notes." The shopkeeper waves his wand and a bell materializes, hanging by a thin chord along the gilding of the windows. "One ring for questions, two to have books set aside for you." Kylo nods his thanks, and the man retreats back into the labyrinth of shelves, disappearing. 

Kylo becomes engrossed in the titles, many of which he has already read before, but a small, palm-sized book on bone reading catches his eye. He begins flipping through it, absorbed in the intricate patterns, throwing methods, and shape dictionaries. 

Time passes by quickly, the world outside this little corner of the bookshop the furthest thing removed from the hustle of the outside world. It seems like five minutes, but has actually been a few hours Kylo can feel his legs beginning to ache. A voice jolts him. 

"Is that you, Solo?" He freezes, a sense of dread rains down on him. "You obtuse slut, that is you!" A hard slap lands on his back, and the cheery face of Jacques St.Laurent-Pickering, an old Hogwarts friend, comes into view. Kylo can feel his insides turn to ice, his hands grip the book tightly, arms shaking. "What have you been doing all these years? Barnaby's been on my tail about a reunion, but you and Alric have been MIA since graduation!" Jacques laughs, oblivious to Kylo's sudden switch to professional statue. "I'm a little late... I mean, " Jacques pauses to scratch the back of his head, "A few years late, but congrats on being Warlock Monthly's Sexiest Man of the Year! Who knew women went for hocus-pocus American types?" Kylo prays to whatever magical being that will listen to conjure a spell and make him disappear, for the ground to swallow him whole, whatever method they'd prefer. Kylo finally turns to look at his best friend for five years, through potions tests and Hogsmeade trips, prepared to burn a bridge he hasn't seen since he disappeared. His vision starts to narrow, and the next words come out in raspy, harsh tones.

"I'm sorry but are you this friendly with _every_ stranger you accost in dark, bookshop corners?" Kylo puts the book back on the shelf, and shoulders past Jacques. He hasn't had to use a British accent in a long time, but it comes back to him quickly. "Ruined a perfectly good reading corner, you did." Kylo glares at him, "Whoever you think I am, I am not. Leave me alone, you _____." 

He stomps down the long hallway and down the transfigured stairs. Small Parchment Pixies and Wooddroms look on from the shelves, terrified of the dark expression Kylo wears. The shopkeeper stands at the cash near the exit, packing a set of books in brown paper. 

"You find everything okay?" But Kylo doesn't answer, already spilling onto the street. The cold, damp air fills his lungs as he takes a deep breath, trying not to hyperventilate. He clutches his chest, above his heart, which threatens to break free from its fleshy confines. He stumbles into a tucked away alley, and leans against the bricks. He's hot, sweat dripping off his face while his inside threaten to start a fire. He removes his scarf and gloves, tucking them away in his coat pocket while he tries to regulate his breathing. All his eyes can see are flashes, an old vision he hasn't thought of in years appearing to him as if new. He knows it is a fake one, planted many years ago to alienate him, he can tell by the slight blurs on the edge and the way people move, that whatever this vision once has been greatly altered, but the pain it brings back is real. He can see Jacques' face as clear as day, as his teenage self hacks through him, a red-tinted Crucio spilling from his wand. 

Pain, Jacques' back arching off the ground of Hogwart's Grand Hall, the taxed bodies of other classmates strewn about. He can feel bile crawl up his throat, the image of disembodied limbs and dark pools of blood across the room where some of his happiest memories were. He can feel himself slide down the wall, his thighs landing in a puddle as his head goes limp. He continues taking deep breathes, closing his eyes and focusing on the sounds of the world around him. 

He can hear rainwater drip off window awnings and into puddles, the rustling of feet along the street as shoppers seek shelter from the returning rain. A quiet trilling sound comes from his right, a something soft brushes his side. He opens his eyes and sees the darkest kitten he has ever seen, curled at his side, seeking warmth on this wet day. It's fur is drenched in water and slightly matted. It shivers as it digs deeper into his side. Kylo, still heaving slightly, lifts his hand to pet it. Calming down, he forces himself through breathing exercises, and on watching the kitten, on its numerous scratches, and patches of fur. It can't be more than a year old, but has been alive long enough to endure hardship. The kitten hasn't even looked at him, so focused on warming itself up on the nearest centre of heat. Kylo glances around and slowly strokes the kitten, seeking out other cars - was there a colony nearby? How long has it been here, cold and, apparently, alone? 

The kitten leans deeper into the warmth of Kylo's hand and each stroke, and he is overcome with images of his own companion shivering in an alley, abandoned and cold. He carefully picks up the creature, who begins to mew in protest. Its bright green eyes stares at him, angry from the sudden removal from his side. It attempts to claw at the offending hand, but lacks the energy. Kylo quickly cradles the wet thing into his chest, and his large hands try to shield it from the winds. 

"If you stay still, I will get to food, alright?" Kylo tries to reason with the cat, but the kitten doesn't react (not that he's expecting it too). It curls itself deeper into his chest, all protest gone now that warmth has returned. Kylo realizes, from the shivers that wreck that drowned creature, that he doesn't have a lot of time. Rushing down the alley, he comes across the local alehouse and barges through the doors. The barkeep, wiping down the counter, looks up at the noise. He must be a sight, sweat-soaked hair plastered to his face, a ball of fur clutched to his chest, but the keep merely continues cleaning, as if half-drowned seerers and feral creatures coming through his establishment is an everyday occurrence. Ignoring the hostess that comes to greet him, Kylo dashes to the back where the national floo network is set up.  Without a look at the other patrons, Kylo calls for home. 

 

* * *

 

 

Harris is displeased. The white and grey furball is curled up on the black settee Kylo specifically stated was off limits. As his grumpy human enters via fireplace, Harris raises his head, as if to say  _'See what you did? you made me sit on the no-Harris chair. I take no pleasure in being here. If you got home earlier, it would not have come to this_ ', but whatever reaction he is expecting from his master, is does not happen as he wipes by him and into the bedroom, arms closed over his chest. This is unlike his human. When he is gone for a long time, it has always been customary to fight over The Seat-of-no-Sits when he returns, followed by roughly a half-hour of 'coos' and pets. It always happens. It never  _not_ happens.  _WHERE ARE HIS PETS?!_

Annoyed at his human's blatant disregard for his petting duties, Harris hops own from the ornate, French-legged settee and follows Kylo into the other room. The sounds of painful mewing immediately puts him on alert, and he rushes in, demands for his pets flying out the window. His human is completely focused, as he slowly wraps the source of the noise in an old sweater. 

"Harris, this little guy needs some attention." Kylo addresses his companion. Harris hops onto his lap for a better view of the creature. He is a tiny, matted thing, more ball of fur than feline. "I found him back in Wales, and I think he's got hypothermia. Think you can keep him warm and out of trouble while I get ready to see Dr. Chowdhary?" Harris chirps, his form of yes. Kylo sets the bundle onto the carpeted floor, and Harris quickly curls around it. The mewing grows quieter as the kitten sniffs Harris' face. He chirps lowly at the bundle of black, trying to soothe its nerves. The kitten grumbles for a bit before the warmth of the woolen sweater takes over and he begins to doze. Harris curls tighter. It has been neglected for a long time, if the scars that cover the feline's face is any indication. His human will take good care of the creature, just like he did to Harris.,. though, he thinks, he is not sharing his side of the bed with the gangly thing any time soon. No, his human will have to fish out the old, ratty cat bed from storage. For now, the kitten can have the sweater. Harris closes his eyes, snuggling down and into a doze as well. In what feels like a second and an eternity together, his human returns with a carrier and blankets. 

"Okay, ready to go?" Harris watches Kylo carefully place the tiny thing into his old carrier, the bright pink crate of his kittenhood. He address Harris. "I left your dinner on the counter. Don't even think about gouging on it now, it'll just taste like water until the clock hits six. I left some snacks, thou-  _HARRIS GET BACK HERE, THOSE ARE NOT FOR NOW!"_ But Harris has already sprinted into the kitchen, the smell of tiny, fish-shaped morsels of goodness getting stronger the closer he gets. All thoughts of vets, half-frozen kittens, and pets are forgotten

Kylo sighs as he watches his cat zoom though the bedroom and into the hallway, his long fur flouncing along. Throwing his coat back on, Kylo steps into the fireplace, crate in hand. 

"Harris! Don't make a mess!" A meow from the kitchen is all he hears. Grabbing a handful of floo powder, he calls out. "Chowdhary & Lee Veterinarians, Magical Reading!" 

In a puff of smoke, he is gone. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is for saint-heretical (tumblr/com). 
> 
> (chants) TIMMIES FIC, TIMMIES FIC, TIMMIES FIC.


End file.
